The Dragon Waiting

by John M. Ford

  "No," Tommasi said. "And no, sir, I do not snore too loudly to know. My talents," he said with a flourish, "detect all such evil as it approaches." "Even the woman's husband?" Caterina said, and smiled awkwardly; there was laughter, and Tommasi bowed.

  Hywel said "How would you have gotten away, Nottesignore? If you had killed the man."

  "Why, I would have cloaked myself in invisibility—"

  "Assuming you could not do that. Or transpose yourself in space."

  "Well," said Tommasi, not at all chastened, "I think I would have hid. Just as soon as I had done it."

  "Where?" della Robbia said.

  "There are more places to hide in an inn than a beehive has cells," Tommasi said, with a sly look at the innkeeper. "I'd hide, until the others had found the body, and gone out to the stable to check on the horses and invite Nottesignore to breakfast. Then, I'd go out to the barn—"

  "In the tracks the others had made," Dimitrios said.

  "—saddle the best one, and go, go, go."

  Dimitrios, della Robbia, and Kronig all started from their places. "Gently," Hywel said. "Might as well send a servant to get snow in his boots. If he's gone that way, he's gone now."

  "Well, I'm going to look," della Robbia said. "And if he's not there, I'm going to take a horse and go looking afield. Anyone else who wants to come is welcome. Captain Hector?"

  Dimitrios said "I love a ride in the snow."

  Della Robbia said "Perhaps the lady would come? The air is fresh, and not cold while still."

  "Yes," Caterina said. "I think so."

  "And would the wizard Nottesignore assist us?"

  "Well, I..."

  "After a heavy meal, one should take some exercise."

  "Ah, of course. But I warn you, as my name suggests, my powers are not greatest in the day."

  "Of course. And you, Doctors?"

  "My joints are like glass in the cold," Hywel said, "and I fear snow-glare would be quite hard on Herr Doktor von Bayern."

  "As you say, then. Innkeeper, if you will have horses made ready?"

  "At once. I do hope that you find him."

  "If the man is on foot in the snow," Hywel said, "how can they fail?"

  Hywel and Gregory sat in Hywel's inn room. The curtains were hilly drawn, making the room quite dim; a decanter of brandy was between the two men.

  "What did you feed on last night?" Hywel said bluntly.

  "They keep rabbits in the kitchen. I took two."

  "What did you do with the carcasses?"

  "Buried them in the snow. I can find the spot if—"

  "It doesn't matter to me, and it wouldn't make the others any happier. You're certain it was rabbits."

  "Yes," Gregory said bitterly. "I washed up, threw the bloody water down the privy, came down to breakfast You see, kindness is deadly to vampires; it makes us careless." Then, more softly, "Why did you lie for me?"

  "Because I need you," Hywel said flatly, "and whole. This enterprise is already short one eye."

  Gregory sipped brandy, gently touched the side of his head. "Well," he said, "now I suppose you have me."

  Hywel said "Blood down the privy, eh. And if someone's bold enough to look there, you can always claim to have piles."

  Gregory chuckled.

  "How good a locksmith are you?" Hywel asked.

  "Fair—how do you know about that?"

  "Gunsmiths are usually good with locks. Could you open one of these room doors?"

  Gregory looked at the lock. "I think so."

  "Then let's look for a murderer."

  Claudio Falcone's room was very cold. The scents of candlewax, lamp oil, wood, and linen were just being displaced by the heavy, acid smell of death. The courier's bound wrists stuck out from beneath the sheet, the fingers curled tight.

  Gregory pulled the sheet down, stared at what was underneath. Hywel turned, said "Oh. You hadn't seen him."

  "No," Gregory said. "Now I understand. It was a vampire..."

  "No, it wasn't. It's an excellent imitation—"

  Gregory said "I have seen things you have not."

  "—except for this." Hywel put a hand on the window, pushed it shut. "No one went out this way; the snow is undisturbed, and you'd have to be an acrobatic circus dwarf anyway... or a bat."

  Gregory said "You don't believe that bat-shape, wolf-shape nonsense! Or perhaps that I can turn into smoke and seep under doors?"

  "No. And whoever did this doesn't, either. Look at the horrid care of it; the ropes, the quill, the cup—he imitates a real gwaedwr, not any imaginary one with hypnotic powers or snake fangs—and then he opens the window. Why?"

  "I don't know. Why was he killed?"

  "That we may find out. Start looking for his courier's pouch. A leather bag, size of a middling book."

  Gregory covered the body again. During the search, he said, "Could there have been magic involved? That Italian wizard—"

  "Is no more a genuine worker than you are, and there's not one within twenty miles."

  "Suppose he concealed his powers behind the tricks."

  "Can you become a bat? There are many things magic cannot do, and hiding itself is one of them."

  They did not find the bag. Hywel noticed a small space between the bedside table and the wall. Taking care not to disturb the knife and cup, he pushed the table aside. There was a small clunk.

  "Was ist's?"

  "A ring," Hywel said. "Caught between the table and the wall. I wonder..." He tried to push it onto Falcone's finger, but the hands were too rigid.

  Gregory looked at the enameled design on the ring. "I know that pattern. Six red balls... the Medici." He looked up. "Antonio della Robbia, the Medici banker."

  Hywel massaged the orbit of his glass eye. "Yes, the Medici. You rode from Switzerland with the banker, Herr Doktor; what did you talk about?"

  "We did not talk... he was very quiet. And I was growing hungry."

  Hywel nodded.

  "But that is the Medici sign, I know."

  Hywel said "I know it too. In truth, I cannot imagine any educated person west of the City who would not know it. And since it speaks in a voice like thunder, who would leave it at the scene of a murder?"

  "There is the window business," Gregory said.

  "Yes, the window. Maybe the killer is just careful and careless at once. We all make mistakes." Hywel rolled the ring over in his hand. "But some kinds of care and carelessness just do not go together." He sighed. "Let's go downstairs. The others must be back soon."

  "Nothing out there," Dimitrios said, sitting before the fire in his riding clothes, his booted legs stretched out straight. "A lot of very bad cavalry country, covered with snow. More snow coming too, I think."

  "What about the ravine you pointed out?" Caterina said. "Could he have gone down that?"

  "Not and lived. Unless... have you ever seen Nordic snowshoes, schees? Long wood slats, and narrow. I knew a Varangian mountaineer who could go down incredible slopes, faster than a horse sprints. But even so, that ravine was thick with trees."

  "Still," Jochen Kronig said, with distinct hope, "the man could have gone down there?"

  "There were no footprints," Dimitrios said, "or marks in the snow, so he didn't go this morning. And last night, in the dark, and the storm..."

  "But he could be dead in the ravine?" Kronig persisted. "Not found until the spring?"

  "Not until high summer," della Robbia said. "When it will be the Byzantines' problem."

  "Let them dig for him," Caterina said.

  Dimitrios said "Could he still be hiding here?"

  "That's a fine thought to sleep on," said della Robbia.

  "No," said Kronig hurriedly. "We have searched everywhere. All the servants, the coachmen. Even the doctors helped to search."

  "Oh?" della Robbia said. "What about all the places the wizard spoke of? Where is Tommasi, at that? Captain Hector, you came back with him, didn't you?"

  "No, I didn't."

  "Charles de
la Maison," Hywel said, "has vanished, leaving no baggage but an unpleasant memory. It is as if he had no physical existence at all."

  "A ghost, perhaps?" della Robbia said.

  "We have no ghosts," said Kronig.

  "Magic," Caterina said, suddenly intent. "An illusion of appearance; a glamour."

  "That is the word, I believe," Hywel said pedantically. In the same tone, he went on: "Supposing that Charles de la Maison was another person in disguise, who then was he? We must determine who he was not. He spoke with Captain Hector, with Innkeeper Kronig, and with myself—will you gentlemen confirm that he spoke with me?"

  As they did, a servant came in in a snow-fringed cloak and spoke urgently in the innkeeper's ear.

  Hywel went on: "And he spoke to, or in the presence of, all four coach passengers—not to mention that he could not very well have been present here and aboard a coach at the same time. That leaves only Nottesignore."

  "Where is Tommasi?" della Robbia said. "He's escaped—ridden away from us while we were searching. He must be miles away by now."

  "Lady and gentlemen," Kronig said, "the wizard Guido Tommasi is not miles away. He is in the barn. The mystery," he said with enormous relief, "is solved."

  Nottesignore dangled from a beam, his toes two feet from the straw-covered floor. He had kicked off his wooden-soled shoes as he died. One lay next to an overturned barrel nearby; the other, and his yellow-tasseled fez, were much farther away, near the door.

  And in the middle of the barn there was a pile of blackened straw and smoldering leather, the fire beaten out and doused with snow. Bending very gradually, Hywel crouched beside the mess. He smelled lamp spirit.

  The leather was the courier's pouch Falcone had carried when he arrived, cut all apart in search of hidden pockets—not just slashed, but expertly dissected.

  There were some bits of partly burned paper, really only ashes held together by the ink on them. The English King's debts... Hywel read from a scrap, and from another... interests of the Bank abroad... Then his first touch disintegrated them. He sighed, tapped his fingers on the still-warm straw.

  A flash of color caught his eye. Hywel reached in, pulled out a small, soft lump, of a vivid red color: a wax seal, melted down. He rolled it over in his fingers, flicked it away up his sleeve as Tommasi had done with his eggs. He got to his feet as Jochen Kronig approached.

  "The letter explains it all," the innkeeper said. "It was rolled up inside his belt."

  Good people:

  For the murder of Claudio Falcone, a courier under the wand, I make confession and the only atonement I can.

  I thought to find wealth in his purse, but found only worthless papers.

  For this terrible waste, I am not worthy to live. I am sorry.

  Guide Tommasi

  "He threw the rope over the beam, stood on the barrel, and kicked it over," Kronig said. He looked at Tommasi's congested face. "A bad way to die, I think."

  "Terrible," Hywel said, "but ordinary enough." He grasped the hem of Tommasi's gown and lifted it as high as he could, exposing the dead man's lower body, the thick woolen hose stained front and back. The fecal smell was strong.

  "What are you doing?" Kronig said, as everyone stared.

  "Clever, but still careless," said Hywel, letting the gown fall. "Careless in the strangest ways."

  "Doctor..."

  Hywel took the ball of sealing wax from his sleeve. It was hard now, cold, red as fresh blood. He put it away again. "Let us all go into the hall, Messer Kronig. And if you have a hand-gun in the house, I suggest that you load it."

  "The problem with Nottesignore's confession," Hywel said, "is that it makes no sense."

  "Since when do men's motives have to make any sense?" Caterina said.

  Caterina and Dimitrios sat in chairs near the fireplace. Della Robbia leaned on the mantel; Gregory stood with his back to the windows, which were dim now in the late afternoon. Hywel was at the table in the center of the room, Kronig a little behind him.

  "I will grant you that they often do not," Hywel said. "But suppose that Charles de la Maison is Nottesignore disguised. What is his motive in ceasing to be Charles? Charles has food, drink, a warm room. Nottesignore has none of these."

  "When he decided to rob the courier," said della Robbia, "he may have supposed the man in the barn would be less suspected."

  Dimitrios said "The footprints—"

  "Would have been blown away by the storm, if he left early enough," Hywel said, "a possibility I did not mention to Tommasi because I wanted him to be a little overconfident. Well, he was, and that is my contribution to his death.

  "Messer della Robbia, you are a banker. You must have a great deal of money with you."

  Della Robbia laughed. "On a journey alone? Traveling money only."

  "And Signorina Ricardi? Surely you have, if not money, then jewels?"

  "I... no. A few things, of mostly personal value."

  "Ah? Then our robber is cleverer than I. I would have thought a banker or a court lady likelier targets than a government courier. But no matter. The thief strikes. He enters the courier's room"— Hywel spoke very slowly—"kills him, in a particularly slow and elaborately cruel fashion... and goes out to his safe and unsuspected barn with his prize. Opening the pouch, he finds not gold, not letters of credit, but only ducal papers. In a fit of remorse over his waste of time and effort, he hangs himself. End of tale."

  "Except," Dimitrios said, "that Nottesignore was alive this morning."

  "That is true," Hywel said. "So let us try to salvage the hypothesis: we assume that Tommasi kept the pouch, without opening it, all night and most of the day. He did not strike me as such a patient man."

  "Nor me as a murderer," Dimitrios said, with a glance at Gregory, "at least not a fancy torture-murderer. But we're still short a Frenchman. Charles couldn't have been anyone but Tommasi " Hywel said "No one expects a single inn guest to be in disguise. Why should one expect two?"

  All present examined one another.

  Hywel said "Suppose two men meet at a coach station. One is a wandering hedge-wizard, good at sleights and disguises as such people are, hungry as they usually are. Call him Guido. The other... call the Agent.

  "The Agent offers Guido a chance to travel by coach instead of on foot, and a warm inn bed—which, since it is November and snowing, sounds better than money. All Guido has to do is pretend to be the Agent for a little while."

  Delia Robbia said "It sounds like a very shady arrangement."

  "But Guido is a little shady. And cold. And he agrees. The coach departs with Guido aboard; the Agent is left behind at the station with Guido's clothes. But he does not put them on. He dresses up as a mercenary, in leather and steel, gets on a fast horse such as mercenaries prefer to ride, and follows the coach; and passes it.

  "So he reaches the inn that will be the next coach stop. He makes sure that the guests there see him, remember him, but don't become too interested in him; some well-placed coarseness and insult does that well. And when the chance arises, he changes into the wizard's clothes, puts in an appearance, changes again."

  "But where does Charles go?" Dimi said.

  "Both disguises, Guido and Charles, have faults. Guido cannot stay in the inn, and Charles's makeup and language have an ever- increasing chance of being penetrated."

  "Or punched in," Dimitrios said.

  Hywel said "My lady, how closely may a quick makeup be examined? No, that's a poor question. How long before it slips, or wears off?"

  "It depends on the kind, and circumstances," Caterina said very evenly. "Hours, perhaps."

  "But if the wearer were to, say, eat an elaborate meal?"

  "Meals on stage are the very bane of a makeup artist's life."

  "Or bathe?"

  "Almost anything would have to be reapplied then, of course."

  "If the hair were colored with saffron, would pinning it up in the Grecian style protect it through a bath?"

  Ricardi said
pleasantly, "Surely, Professore Plato, you are not suggesting I am that good an actress." There was general laughter.

  "No, my lady. You would not have been interested in the pouch that Falcone carried, not after he reached here. You have traveled together; he liked you; he would have satisfied your casual curiosity, though of course never revealed the bag's contents. But the Agent was not so fortunate. He had to recover his own identity, in order to get close to that pouch; and thus poor Guido must sleep in the barn after all.

  "Surely Guido would ask for a little extra recompense for this change of quarters. But not money—he could not spend it without drawing suspicion. Something practical. Food? There was a groaning board on his way out, and for tomorrow he had a few eggs... picked up... at his last stopping place. But the Agent had something he did want; he had seen them in the Agent's baggage.

  "How else would a man in a forever-mended gown and wooden shoes be wearing new woplen hose when he died?"

  Antonio della Robbia said "You've already made alibi for the vampire, and the lady is removed from consideration. So it must be me that you are trying to hang by my hose."

  "Nottesignore was the one hanged," Hywel said, "but in your noose. As it was your quill in the courier's neck." He paused. "All Medici bankers were agents... spies... to one extent or another."

  "Well," della Robbia said, "guilty."

  Without any surprise, Hywel said "You admit it."

  "Freely. Why should I not? Do you recall what Falcone was? A courier from Ludovico Sforza—thus a courier for the Byzantine Empire. Is there anyone in this room, this inn, this poor ruined land that was Italy, who loves Byzantines?"

  Hywel said calmly, "One of us hates them a very great deal." Closing his eyes tightly, Gregory took off his glasses, breathed on them, polished and replaced them. Dimitrios looked at his knuckles.

  Hywel said "There were always limits to the protection of the wand. A courier would lock his door, and because locks can be picked, brace the door as well. But Claudio Falcone opened his door to someone. Surely not a Medici agent. Certainly no one else here. Except the lady."